I nod, all too familiar with what he’s talking about. How he let Abbey leave, then flew across the country to admit he fucked up.
“But maybe instead of insisting something could never be, you keep yourself open to what might be. I’ve seen a change in you over the past few months. I’ve seen the old Hayden again. Mybrother. Maybe I’m wrong, but I have a feeling that girl has something to do with it. Hell, she hasa lotto do with it.”
I don’t argue. Because I know she does.
“You don’t let something like that walk away withouta fight, man. Haven’t you punished yourself long enough?”
The noise around us swells again. Silverware. Laughter. The hum of family. But I don’t hear any of it.
Instead, my sole focus is on Rowan as she signs something to Presley. Something amusing, because Presley’s mouth curves into a wide smile, something she rarely did a few months ago.
For a second, the future flashes before my eyes. Coming home to a quiet house. No music playing in the kitchen. No vivacious girl dancing between checking on Jemmy and teaching Presley how to cook.
I’ve told myself I’ll be okay when she leaves.
That it won’t bother me.
But the mere idea of walking into the house without her there feels unbearable.
And that scares me more than anything.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
ROWAN
“Don’tyou dare slam that door again, young lady!”
Hayden’s voice cracks through the house like thunder, colliding with the sharp bang of wood, and I freeze inside the great room.
Lately, I’ve been starting my day on the front porch, but I knew today might be difficult for everyone, considering it’s Cora’s birthday. So I went outside to do yoga to give Hayden some space, all things considered.
And apparently walked in on World War III.
I have a pretty good idea of what caused it, too.
As expected, Hayden’s father-in-law has arranged another memorial service honoring Cora’s memory, followed by a luncheon. While I disagree with constantly having to attend these memorials, it’s not my place to say anything.
Although it’s been a struggle to bite my tongue.Especially with how Presley’s been unravelling all week. She’s been short-tempered and withdrawn. Hell, she hasn’t even wanted to help cook dinner, something that’s usually the highlight of her day.
I try to slip through the living room unnoticed, hoping to disappear into my bedroom and give Hayden space to handle it, but he storms down the stairs at the exact moment I pass them.
His jaw is tight, eyes on fire, muscles rigid with frustration. Grief. Helplessness.
He looks like the Hayden from months ago.
The one who lived permanently on edge.
But when he sees me, his expression shifts, the tension falling from his shoulders.
He crosses the space between us in three strides and pulls me into his chest.
Hard.
For a second, I hesitate.
We’ve been careful lately. No lingering touches in the open. No blurred lines in front of the kids.
But today isn’t a normal day.
